I stand upon my windswept hill,
My leaves all gone but not my will.
So many years, so long ago,
Now winter coats my boughs with snow.
The squirrels run no more, how wise,
They snuggle deep and close their eyes.
The song of birds has changed again,
But quieter now, snow turns to rain.
I stand here looking cold, austere,
The last of many oaks, I fear.
There was a time in centuries past,
No question that I’d be the last.
My memories saw both hill and dale,
So thick with oaks, it made me quail.
But then I heard the sound of saws,
They needed us to fight their wars.
They started far beneath my hill,
Not caring they began to kill.
I saw my friends part one by one,
The shade had gone to please the sun.
I watched mankind’s brief stay on earth,
And tried to understand their worth.
I let my boughs reach to the sky,
They wait for warmth before I die.
I need my buds and then my leaves,
A cloak of green with twigs that weave.
Then when my sap has run its course,
I’ll gather strength and find my force.
Each year that’s passed I’ve feared for life,
Lest mankind wields his fatal knife.
Now peace has come. It makes no sense,
Around my trunk they’ve built a fence.
A plaque that shines like summer gold,
Tells one and all I’m centuries old.
A camera flash, a shout, a smile,
The people stop and rest awhile.
Perhaps mankind at long last sees,
That ethereal beauty, us the trees.
-
Author:
PETERHARRISON (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2021 08:12
- Comment from author about the poem: I was sitting on a bench in the market square of a little French town, when I saw in the corner a knarled and obviously very old Olive tree. The trunk was hollow and pigeons flew in and out. Somehow it had survived and small branches with a few green leaves were apparent. When I asked a local man how old it was, he gave me a very gallic shrug of his shoulders. He had no idea, it had always been there. I wondered at all that this tree had seen and the lives that it had surpassed. Slowly a poem started to form in my head and over the next few days, I wrote GREAT OAK. My English side had taken over and I had turned that unforgettable Olive tree into an Oak.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 41
- User favorite of this poem: Cygnus X-1.
Offline)
Comments2
Excellent poem! Trees are invaluable for us all. Look forward to reading more of your poems.
Thank you so much for your kind comments. I have really enjoyed your poems and I look forward to reading many more. The issue of tissues really made me laugh. I have never understood why the human race, with apparent doom approaching, feels the need to empty the shops of loo rolls!
As memory of a certain time in my life, an old English oak does it for me.
A disciplined well constructed rhymer.
Welcome to MPS (trad. greeting here) I hope you will also contribute to the conversations attached to your own poems and others. Helps make MPs the lively place it already is.
Thanks so much for your comment and it's so great to speak with other down to earth poets. I loved your one about S and Z, my cousin has lived in America for over forty years and sometimes I get confused in the way he writes and the words he uses. It is like Microsoft Word. They give you a choice of English, the like of which I have never seen. But it doesn't matter which one you choose, it will be corrected into American!
You have sussed Microsoft word alright - very irritating.
Have a good time here.
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